Airbag
by SatanicAegyo
Summary: When Harry refuses to turn to help, Voldemort shows him how easy it is to get revenge on those who have wronged him. Set after the Order of the Phoenix. (-slow burn and free form!) Can be found on Archive of Our Own and WattPad under the same title. Title based off Radiohead's 'Airbag'
1. Introduction

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters used!**

 **First Chapter (Introduction) is basically a rant about everyone Harry hates. It is very short, I know, but the next chapter shall be longer I promise!**

 **Please leave comments and likes!**

It had been two weeks since Harry had been sent home for the summer. Locked in Dudley's old room once more, the fragile curtains had been drawn closed, leaving the glow of the fading sun to illuminate the otherwise lifeless area. Harry lay facing the wall on his bed, his finger ghosting round a piece of dust stuck to the damp plaster.

The Dursleys had gone out for the evening, having been invited to one of Vernon's new colleague's house for dinner, leaving the poor teenager without yet another meal. Speaking of which, Harry hadn't eating for two days. Food meant having to not piss Vernon off, which was practically impossible in his case, being the 'attention seeking whore' that he was.

While this was the case, it didn't bother Harry as much as it should have. He no longer argued against the Dursleys, he could no longer find amusement from the way Vernon's face would grow red and distorted in anger and his words no longer made sense.

In fact, Harry hadn't felt it in him to speak any more than a sentence to anyone. Ever since Sirius' death, nothing at this moment seemed to matter. He made this clear to his friends too, having sent Hedwig to the Weasleys beforehand, with a plea to keep her safe during the holidays. As a result, he had no contact from anyone. Thank God.

Harry's tracing upon the wall had come to a halt; the sound of his nail resonating throughout the room. It was dark now; the light of the lamppost across the street casting shadows upon his floor. Staring down upon his out-stretched arm, palm now laying out in front, Harry could no long see the dark ring of bruising that painted his wrist. Along with any of his bruises, they all melded into his grey, dirtied skin.

Vernon did not often have tie Harry's hands behind his back, but the young wizard could no longer notice how his blunt nails jutted into the man's lumpish thighs as his head was forced further along his uncle's…or when Harry attempted to push Vernon away from himself before he could thrust into his…Sometimes Harry wished that Vernon would tie the rope around his neck instead; it would be easier that way. He could forget about Voldemort, forget about Sirius. To die. But that would be too much to ask for, wouldn't it? To get some peace?

The tell-tale groan of the opening door echoed through Harry's ears. Heavy steps, similar to that of a large pig, steadily made their way up the stairs (if you can imagine that). It was only when the doors opposite and beside his own closed did Harry sigh, letting go of the breath he had unknowingly held. His body ached as he moved to lie on his back, having been in one position for the majority of the evening. He was so tired. He wanted to escape this reality; however his dreams would not allow that. The deaths of both Cedric and Sirius plagued every minute of his unconscious state. If not them then it was of the punishments he so _rightfully_ deserved from Vernon for being so pathetically worthless.

And while Harry knew he had rid Voldemort from his mind, he could not help but feel taunted still. The Dark Lord was alive, and the whole of the wizarding world expected him to kill him, or die trying to do so. No slacking from the Boy who lived. The Boy who lived with his abusive relatives and nothing but the bloody blood wards that Dumbledore had so _lovingly_ put up to protect him. How thoughtful. How thoughtful it was for old Dumbledore to love _each and every_ one of his his students.

But really, who could blame him for not caring? Harry was worth no one's time it seemed. Not his 'friends', not the Dursleys, and certainly not anyone at Hogwarts.

 **This is my first fan-fiction and I hope you have enjoyed it so far. I don't know when I will update but hopefully it'll be soon depending on how popular this can get.**

 **First Chapter (Introduction) is basically a rant about everyone Harry hates. It is very short, I know, but the next chapter shall be longer I promise!**

 **Please comment and leave likes!**

 **Feel free to criticise, but do not be obliged to tell me how much you hate it :)**


	2. Hogwarts

**It's been a while since I've posted a new chapter, and I'm sorry! But this chapter is longer than the first, and I hope you enjoy it.**

 **Please leave comments and likes, as they are greatly appreciated!**

 **I have no beta reader, so if there are mistakes, please point them out so I can adjust them.**

 **I'm not sure when I'll update next but I know I won't be dropping this story anytime soon for those who were asking.**

The train to Hogwarts was tense to say the least; Harry could practically hear Hermione's eagerness to question him on his summer. Ron by now had dismissed Harry's hostile behaviour and was staring out at the passing landscape, ignoring the young witch's attempts at to make conversation between the three of them.

The Dursleys had given Harry some slack towards the end of the holidays, avoiding bruising the boy where the public could see. Even so, he felt the need to somehow cover up his whole body to stop the gazes of others from the sickly thin bones that poked through his skin. Harry's stomach began to rumble, a result of not having been fed a morsel since a couple of days ago, save from the stale crusts of bread and water Dudley was able to slip through into his cousin's room. Dudley had somehow missed his parent's awful influence, which Harry was extremely grateful for, as by now the he would most likely be dead without him.

Coughing in order to cover up his hunger, Harry's ribs rattled, one of which he was certain was cracked. Hermione sent a worried glance towards his scrunched up expression, which immediately straightened out into a meagre smile in an attempt to comfort her. Reciprocating the small gesture she turned back towards the book that lay her hands.

"I'm going to get some fresh air," Harry weakly stated, "I'll see you at the feast."

He slipped out of their compartment before he could receive any protests.

Scooting past the various students that hovered within the corridor, he made his way to the end of the train, leaning alongside the wall outside of another seated area. Harry pushed open the small window beside him, delighting in the strong breeze that pressed against his face, sending his hair flying out of his eyes. The sound of the wind whipping around the window drowned out the constant murmur of everyone, despite being exceeding crowded.

In times like this, Harry was able to clear his mind of the pressing troubles that clouded his mind. He knew as soon as he entered Hogwarts, he would be treated like glass; easily shattered or smashed if mishandled.

He'd heard there was to be a new member of staff teaching potions this year, and while he had not enrolled in the class, he hoped to God that they wouldn't be nearly as bad as the previous teacher.

Bringing his hand up to his face, Harry eyed the slight discolouration of his skin where the scar once stood, respectfully due to his numerous detentions with Professor Umbridge. Part of him was saddened that the words could no longer be seen; the memory of the quill carving through his tender flesh was what often grounded him during moments alone when he found himself drifting within his own mind, if the ache of his battered body was not enough to go off of. However over the summer he had found the words slowly fading as a result of the medical treatment he received prior the holidays.

On the other hand, this meant there was less attention of the worried glances from both students and staff if they'd caught sight of the wound. But Harry doubted that matter anymore, as the death of Sirius now meant he'd be constantly watched over.

 **~(Time skip- sort of)~**

Once the train had arrived, Harry took his time in making his way to the platform, dragging his worn trainers across the floor, hoping the friction would slow him down enough that the train should turn back before he managed to leave. Unfortunately, luck was not on his side, and as he reached the exit, he stepped out onto the empty concrete, and began to make it up to the school gates.

Groups of others could be heard far up ahead; chatting and laughing over the events of each other's summer.

Harsh wind blew through Harry's loose clothing, the thin material of Dudley's second-hand shirt and jacket doing nothing in terms of keeping him warm. Goosebumps made their way up his arms as he began to shiver ever so slightly.

The open gates made their way into his view. Professor Flitwick stood pacing, searching the list of names in front of him, until he caught sight of Harry. A frown spread across his features, however said nothing to the boy as he passed through the gates, instead simply ticking his name off, and turning to close the school's entrance up.

For this, Harry was grateful; however upon seeing both Draco and Professor Snape beside the various items of baggage upon the ground, the kind act was lost to him.

Deciding it was best to simply turn his head downwards upon the dirtied path, he passed the couple; avoided the sneer Malfoy held, and the lingering pairs of eyes that followed his movements upwards. Harry didn't even feel the need to bother with Draco's naivety at this point, while only a few months ago he would be sharing the same distasteful expression towards the boy.

Harry entered the Great Hall not long after. Striding towards the small gathering of fellow Gryffindor's, he sat next to Hermione, looking straight ahead to Ron in front of him.

"Took you long enough, mate," started Ron," 'Mione's been rambling on at going back to fetch you." He finished with a slight chuckle at the witch's accusing scowl.

"Sorry, I was caught behind a group of second years." Harry answered, a blatant lie to which Hermione arrogantly replied:

"Harry, tell us the _real_ reason. It's Sirius, isn't it? You don't have to hide it from us you know!"

"Drop it, Hermione."

"Why shou-"

The young witch was cut off short as Dumbledore began his speech. The old fool hadn't changed in the slightest since he'd first met him; all except from the darkened bags that lay beneath his dull eyes or the insidious black trail upon his wrinkled hand that creeped up beneath his sleeve. He talked of dark forces; of temptation and consequences for those to fall to such powerful callings.

Of course it was all bullshit; threats put in place to keep the light side strong in order to be a worthy opponent to the Dark Lord. The most depressing part of it all was to see those around him nodding, believing in whatever their dearest Headmaster told them.

Harry was bought out of his dazed state as food had suddenly appeared across the table. Luscious dishes filled to the brim, with sugar-coated snacks and succulent meats and ripened fruits and just the sight of it all made Harry feel sick. The deprivation of food left him with a minuscule appetite, of which could only accommodate foods of little to no texture, unless of course he wished to throw it back up again after moments of swallowing it.

This is why Harry can only bring himself to bring one slice of bread to his plate; ripping small pieces off of it, and slowly but surely, providing his empty stomach with the flavourless meal. After this, Harry helped himself to two large cups of water, gulping the lot down as if it'd been a luxury to be in the very presence of it.

Harry then decided to announce his departure, and once again turned from his two classmates to head towards the Gryffindor common-room, oblivious of the various members of staff who held their attention on the boy as he strode back out of the hall, not only ten minutes into the feast.

Once he'd left the hall, Harry contemplated on where to go. He'd first thought he'd go the boy's dormitory, however found that there'd be nothing to do until the feast had ended, and the last thing Harry wanted to happen was to be stuck in his own mind again. Instead, he found himself stalking up towards the astronomy tower.

As expected, no one was wondering the corridors except himself; his footsteps echoed off of the walls. At the tower, he could see the sun beginning to hide behind the hilly landscape. The wind was stronger up there, and Harry could once again feel the cold bite of the breeze lapping at his thin frame. It was calming to see the world from higher up; seeing how, just at everything from up here was, each complication he suffered from could be so easily minimised until it was nothing but a dot in the expanse of his mind.

That is until he heard the tell-tale footsteps of another, making their way up towards him.

"Harry, my boy, shouldn't you be enjoying the feast along with your friends?"

Harry turned around in order to see the person that addressed him so childishly.

"Headmaster," he began, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pull you from your dinner." Harry stated monotonously.

Dumbledore smiled oh so sweetly towards the student before replying: "Don't worry yourself over that, Harry; I was only curious to see what had you leaving so early. But let's not dwell on that too much, yes?"

"Yes, Professor"

"That's my boy," he continued, "I would also like to add, that I wish for you to resume your occlumency lessons alongside Professor Snape again. I believe they can be of use still."

"If you say so, Professor." Harry said, "I think I should be heading back now, don't you think?"

"Of course, sweet dreams, Harry"

Harry did not bother wishing Dumbledore a good night as he crossed the professor and made his way down.

Back at the dormitory, neither Ron nor the others had yet finished their dinner, leaving the room empty, which meant Harry was able to get ready for bed quickly. Within ten minutes the wizard had settled down, casting a silencing charm around his bed to avoid awkward moments at which he'd awaken his roommates from one of his useless nightmares.

Later that night, he did not hear the chatter of his classmates entering the room, nor did he feel the burning gaze of Ron as he himself settled down for bed. Sleep could be a wondrous thing sometimes; however it did not take long before the twisted visions began forming and bending before his eyes. It was going to be a very, very long year.


	3. Curiosity

**I'm sorry, it's been a while since I've updated, despite what I said in the previous chapter :'(**

 **This chapter has been sitting on my desk top, half-finished for weeks, so I'm sorry for making you wait this long!**

It was early morning when Harry awoke next; the sun beginning to rise as the clocks turned five. The castle was quiet; still and lifeless as everyone was still caught in their dreams. Except for Harry of course, the young wizard lay flush upon his small bed, outstretched and ridden of his bed sheets. A thin layer of sweat covered his forehead and upper lip, his face pale despite the warm conditions of the dormitory.

Harry's dreams slowly began to blur in his head; he constantly found himself re-living the deaths of this dear god-father and Cedric, experiencing the gruesome, twisted punishments he received from Vernon, and the looks and anger and mistrust from those around him. It made him feel skittish; made his skin crawl with confusion and bitterness.

Deciding to make the most of the free morning, Harry went to the showers where he stood under the lukewarm stream of water for over hour, clearing his mind and preparing for the gruelling day ahead. He knew he hadn't heard the end of Hermione's obnoxious whining, and Ron's blatantly offensive comments were sure to start up sooner or later. Most of all, Harry knew that Dumbledore would no doubt try to break into his mind, to try help his poor, useless student become more dependent on the professor.

Violent shivers racked the boy's body, making his torso ache uncomfortable from the large amounts of bruising that painted his pallid skin. Stepping out of the shower, Harry wrapped one of the large fluffy towels that Hogwarts provided round himself, the soft cotton practically drowning his petite frame. Looking up, Harry caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror pinned along the bathroom wall. Deep discoloured bags lay beneath his emerald eyes, accompanied by the dark curls that bounced aloft his head, dripping down softly to where his feet stood. In spite of this, he had never felt healthier since last time he'd left Hogwarts.

A delicate chuckle left Harry's thin lips. He would definitely miss mornings like these; time on his side and all the luxuries one could ask for. At 'home' Harry would be allowed one shower every other week, limited to five minutes as not to waste their precious water. Fuck them and their pompous asses.

The young wizard shook his head, sending water droplets flying from his hair as he did.

'Calm down there.'

Harry glanced back up to his reflection to see Neville standing behind him, scrunching up his nose as he wiped his face down.

'Sorry, did I wake you?' Harry asked, a slight smirk make its way to his face at his roommate's expression.

'That's okay, Harry. It won't hurt me to get up a bit earlier, right?' Neville said. A grin also spread across his kind features.

'Right, I'll let you get ready then too I suppose.'

Harry turned, moving past the other boy in order to leave the bathroom for his friend to use.

It was nearing six now, and breakfast would not be served for another hour. After getting changed, Harry decided to head over to the library, where he made himself comfy in one of the chairs alongside a book on apparition and disapparition. While he'd read this particular several times during his time at Hogwarts, he felt the need to be reminded of such freedom in the wizarding world. The very thought that he could go anywhere he wanted with just a single thought in his head was superb. No more time would have to be spent within the walls of his second hand bedroom once he was of legal age; he could go anywhere! That is if he lived to his seventeenth birthday.

By the time Harry had put the book back in its rightful place, it was past eight; classes should be starting soon.

Walking back to the dormitory, he went to fetch his books for his classes for the morning. The great hall was still open for breakfast, with many students still conversing over their meal. Harry could see both Hermione and Ginny sitting opposite each other, however there was no sign of Ron, odd. He walked on.

When Harry returned to the room, he picked up the books from his trunk at the foot of his bed, still not having unpacked everything. He was about to leave once more when Ron stepped through the entrance.

'Where the fuck do you think you've been!?' He gritted through clenched teeth.

'What?'

'Don't give me that bullshit, Harry. You've been avoiding us since the train!'

'You're over reacting, Ron. I went to the library.' Harry stated.

'Over reacting? Well I'm sorry for trying!'

'Trying to do what Ron!? Have you ever tried to do anything in your bloody life!?' Harry knew that might've been quite harsh, however by the way Ron was treating him currently, he couldn't give a shit.

'I'm trying to be your bloody friend, mate! But I guess you don't want that do you!?'

Harry didn't bother answering as he stormed past Ron, books in hand, out of the dormitory, and out of the Gryffindor common room.

The day continues smoothly, neither Ron nor Hermione attempting to speak to Harry, instead sending not-so-threatening death stares across the classroom every so often. Other students too avoided any conversation beyond greetings with Harry, not even Malfoy pestered him. Speaking of Malfoy, he'd had better days; his deathly pale skin was adorned with blackening bags beneath his wondering eyes, half covered by his uncut, platinum hair that'd lost it shine. Harry could say he looked worse than himself, but he didn't dwell on it too much.

It was nearing late evening now, and Harry had begun to make his way down to the dungeons for his occlumency lessons with Professor Snape. He'd attended dinner in the Great Hall earlier, sat with Luna and Neville for company, who, much to Harry's relief, didn't come to question his lack of appetite, nor why they were constantly being sneered at by the two Gryffindors sat up ahead.

As Harry neared his professor's classroom, he felt quite glad he was able to remove himself from the crowd of arrogant Gryffindors without having to give excuses. Don't get him wrong, Snape was not the most understanding or joyful of all, however the fact that the professor had shown no sympathy towards the student made him feel almost normal; even if it only lasted a couple of hours.

Knocking on the old door standing before him, Harry waited until he heard Snape's voice, beckoning him into the room. The middle-aged man was sat at his desk, hunched slightly above the numerous piles of parchment that held his attention; creased robes and harsh movements of the quill told Harry just how much of a mood Severus was in, and opted to patiently wait beside the entrance.

It wasn't until the professor stood, dragging the rickety stool beneath him in a most ungraceful manor, did Harry look up. Black eyes met Harry's own in a choking glare; however the intensity of the stare did not last long:

'We don't have all day, Potter.' he spat.

'Yes, Sir. Sorry.' Harry mumbled stiffly in reply.

Scuffed steps made their way over to the desk, stopping short of a couple metres from the appliance, leaving an overly comfortable amount of space between the two.

'Let's get this over with, Potter. You should know what to do by now, I expect; clear your mind, don't allow me to see any part of your mind that you do not wish me to see.'

His instructions were short but precise, much like the year before. It took much more practise than Harry thought it would take to clear his head for these lessons; throughout the summer he had found himself constantly disappointed and angered as various visions would trickle into his head without his consent, ruining the little progress he had made that night.

On the other hand, he had also found that it was getting easier to block some of the horrid scenes of abuse, instead replacing them with a blur of old memories gained from his earlier years at Hogwarts. There was nothing specific in these recollections; snippets of shared conversations; or cut-off sounds of distant laughter that created a whirlpool of confusion.

This was not only felt by Harry, but also by Snape as he tried to venture further into his student's mind; a deep frown stretched across his forehead, drawing his thick eyebrows together as he did so. Honestly, he was surprised how much Harry had improved since their previous lessons, where the boys could do nothing but pathetically watch as his mind was ripped into ruthlessly.

Exiting Harry's mind, Severus found himself speechless towards the boy. He wished to praise him, yet thought better of it, letting a steely gaze rest upon him instead.

' _Again_.' Snape said, as he dove back into the disaster that was Harry's conscience.

The two continued this practise for over a couple hours before the splitting headaches began to make itself know from within the wizards' skulls.

Harry was to come back next week, but was dismissed without another word.

The dorm room was silent by the time Harry had arrived. His fellow Gryffindors were sleeping peacefully, except Ron, whose snores could most likely be heard from Hagrid's hut.

Lying upon his bed, Harry groaned heartedly into his pillow. He felt exhausted after his training; lead bones and a cotton tongue accompanied his blended brain. Sleep, for once, seemed like a good solution, the boy thought, however found himself continuously restless as time ticked on; not to mention Ron's endless stream of unconscious roars acted as a constant reminder of his awful headache he'd acquired earlier.

 _Fuck it_.

Cold floor boards creaked under the boy's weight as Harry stood up once more. The invisible cloak was swung above his head, settling gracefully over his body as he strode across the door to the exit, not bothering to check whether or not someone had been woken by this act.

Walking through the castle, Harry could not shake the feeling of frustration that followed him; the further he walked the more agitated he became. The young wizard didn't know the reason behind this, yet he found himself turning multiple corners, only to retrace his steps.

Leaning against the concreate wall of the corridors, he sunk down until his knees reached his chin. What was wrong with him? He'd escaped the Dursleys to where he'd wished to be at Hogwarts, but as anyone could tell, he was far from content. It felt as if he had an itch at the base of his head, in which he would be glad to tear through his flesh and bones, just to quell it. Pulling harshly at his hair strands, Harry was tempted to do just that. Such an urge made his eyes glisten and to sniff softly. It hurt, and he didn't understand why.

At the back of his mind, the boy heard the rough scraping of bricks nearby his shrunken form. In one swift movement, Harry had risen from the ground, facing the wall he'd been resting against. Or what used to be a wall at least. The intricate, tell-tale design of the entrance ahead of him made him want to laugh. It seemed that the castle had repaired itself over the course of the summer, for here, presenting itself to the Gryffindor, was the Room of Requirement.

Stepping through into the room, Harry could make out piles upon piles of lost and abandoned belongings; ranging from whole sets of vintage furniture, to classic, well-read novels, all shrouded by a layer of spider webs.

Feeling as though he'd just found Narnia, Harry was giddy with curiosity. Steps echoed within the room as he circled each and every column, like a prince would around his castle. Of course this was not Harry's first time here, however the knowledge of the solitude, privacy and the newest additions of the room made it seem like a whole new world. One with copious amounts of dust at that, Harry thought before coughing harshly.

The cloak, having been taken off and forgotten about in Harry's grasp, was brought up to his nose so not to inhale any more dirty air. Many objects had been covered, hidden from the first glance by large cloth materials that draped down onto the floor below. Curious as to what things would be kept under these sheets, the boy pulled experimentally on one of them: a bird cage. Empty. He tried another: a book case. Empty.

Walking along further, Harry stopped in front of a taller piece; nothing surrounded it, singling it out from the crowd of other ornaments. Ridding it of its cloth, what greeted Harry was more of a surprise than the presentation of the Room of Requirement itself. Stepping back, he scanned the object for all it was worth. A look of awe was plastered onto his, often hostile, face.

Stood in front of Harry was the Mirror of Erised.

 **I'm sorry, it's been a while since I've updated, despite what I said in the previous chapter :'(**

 **I recently received my GCSE results and I'm very happy with them ^ ^ I'll be attending sixth form starting from tomorrow, but there'll still be updates!**

 **Please leave a bookmark so you know when this updates next!**


	4. Discovery

Airbag chapter 04

A rounded, grotesque figure was slumped across the concrete floor behind Harry's reflection.

Various colours of abuse painted the dull skin of the beast; harsh bruises, gruesome burns and deep incisions beautifully marred his shameful, naked form. Neither the hands, feet nor genitals remained on its body; blood oozed steadily out of the wounds, each of which looked as through a blunt scalpel had been used to saw the pieces of raw flesh off. Their mouth hung open in mock horror – the teeth now looked like old scabs due to the copious amount of blood that stained them.

Now the best part of this vision, thought Harry as he felt the sadistic grip of excitement upon his heart, was the eyes; or lack of, in this situation.

The once piercing, intrusive eyes that pained the young wizard every time he'd felt this man's intense glare upon him, lay empty; deep, dark hollows that drew all focus from any onlooker caused one to shiver with dread – Harry shivered with glee. The very _idea_ that this man would have screamed and begged for mercy, all the while his limbs were being torn from his body, and his eyes scooped repulsively out of their sockets, amused Harry greatly.

A broken, scratchy gasp split through the muffled silence that had settled. Harry jumped slightly at this ordeal. This soon turned into a loud heaving and spluttering, sending drops of bloodied saliva to pool beneath him.

"H…"

"Ha…"

Another burst of coughing tore its way up.

"Ah. You can speak, can't you." Harry stated, his voice surprisingly void despite the exhilaration be currently felt.

"Harry. H… "

"What was that? I couldn't quite hear you" a smug smirk grew upon the wizard's face.

"Help me."

The response was feeble as the man struggled to tilt his head up. Harry felt his cheeks grow warm – was he blushing? Those two words did wonders to Harry.

"Help you? Help you with what?" The smirk widened.

A loud, heart-wrenching sob made its way out of the man's throat. He wailed and moaned; what was left of his body trembled, leaving him to release high whines at the sharp pains that immobilised him.

"What a wreck you are, dear Uncle. It's a shame I can't help you, but I'm sure you understand, don't you?" Harry's smirk twisted into a slight chuckle at this.

It was only when the reflection, his uncle, didn't respond any further that the boy stepped back. This wasn't real, far from it. Was this really what harry wanted? This sick-minded, grotesque vision of his uncle clinging onto life was wrong. So, so wrong.

Harry stepped back, looking once over the mirror as his uncle evaporated in the reflection's background. Spinning round to face the entrance of the room, the wizard strode out; his steps lighter than before, as he headed back to his dorm.

"Harry? Harry, my dear boy, are you alright?"

A voice snapped Harry out of his trance. It was Professor Slughorn. Harry had been stirring his potion the wrong direction. Again.

"Sorry, professor. It seems I didn't sleep that well last night; nothing to worry about I assure you, sir"

Harry replied, willing his voice to sound slightly more cheerful. He wasn't sure it worked because the face the Slughorn pulled didn't seem pleased.

Over the past few months, Harry had been asked to suck up to the professor to get this 'amazing' secret for the headmaster. What bullshit. How lazy could that old man be to get his students to do everything for him?

It was nearing the end of the school year and the wizard had found no luck in getting Professor Slughorn to open up about what he had said to Tom Riddle that night. But today that would change; a small vial of Felix Felicis lay unopened in Harry's robe pocket. Harry hoped to god that this worked, or else he would have to keep listening to Professor Dumbledore's lectures for the rest of the year.

An hour later and the students was filing out of the classroom. Harry gulped down the potion discretely, his back turned to the professor as if still packing away his belongings. It was only until all other pupils had left that he turned around, meeting the questioning eyes of Slughorn before speaking:

"I was in the library the other night, in the restricted section, and I read something rather odd...about a bit of rare magic. It's called, as I understand it, a horcrux."

"I beg your pardon."

"Horcrux." Harry said eerily, copying the memory of young riddle as best as he could. "I came across the term while reading, and I didn't fully understand it."

"I'm not sure what you're reading, Harry, but this is very dark stuff. Very dark indeed" Slughorn nodded worryingly as he said this.

"Which is…why I came to you."

"A horcrux is an object which a person has concealed out of their soul."

"But I don't understand how that works, sir." Harry continued, stepping closer.

"One splits one's soul and hides it in an object, by doing so you are protected should you be attacked, and your body destroyed."

"Protected?" Harry echoed.

"Part of your soul that is hidden lives on in other words you cannot die."

Harry struggled to keep his face straight. If he had known the potion had this effect he would have used it earlier!

"But how does one split his soul?"

"I think you already know the answers to that, Harry." Finished Slughorn uncertainly.

At this Harry nodded and picked up his bag of the desk. He thanked his professor before turning out onto the corridor, not missing the look of dread that flashed upon the old man's face and a faint call of his own name.

Dumbledore was impressed. He praised harry, looking fondly at the boy as he re-emerged from the pensive.

"You've done well, my boy." the headmaster grinned "However I regret to say it doesn't end here."

"Sir?" Harry questioned.

What on earth was he expected to do now?

"The horcruxes. I believe I know where to find one more, harry. But I receive it on my own."

"You need my help, sir. Why me? Why not another professor?" Harry asked cynically.

Dumbledore's expression flashed momentarily. He was annoyed. Harry could almost say he was surprised; surely the professor had realised by now the distaste he held for him. On the other hand, knowing how bloody oblivious the man could be, the boy found himself amused.

"Harry, my boy, you are just as strong as any other staff here, just as skilled." What a lie. "do you not wish to go on an adventure?"

His eyes twinkled, in the badly lit office. Harry compared them to a venture's eyes; beady and aggressive.

There was really no room for discussion as the headmaster held up his arm silently, inviting the student to hold on to him. The young wizard felt offended; he really was Dumbledore's petty lab rat.

On this thought, the professor cleared his thought. Harry did not meet eyes with him as he laid his hand on the robes. What new joy was awaiting him this time?


	5. Dumbledore

Harry clung onto Dumbledore's robes as a large gust of wind tore through the cheap material of his top. Harsh sprays of the sea whipped his face furiously as the young wizard attempted to open his eyes to his surroundings. They were at sea – Harry couldn't quite comprehend the meaning of this.

"Sir, what are we doing here?" Harry asked, his voice stern despite the cold penetrated his bones.

Dumbledore grinned, his eyes sinking within the deep wrinkles of his face. The wizard gave no answer as he stared towards the opening of a cave only a few meters from where they stood. He wasted no time in apparating them both further into said cave.

Inside was damp and stifling. The cave walls seem to creep round the pair as the trod further within, their footsteps echoing eerily. Dumbledore raised his wand, casting a silent Lumos across the cave. Water droplets glinted in the new-found light, hanging from the jagged rocks in a poor imitation of crystals. The spell lit up a small, isolated island within the cave, a taller object stood upon it – what it was, harry couldn't tell. This whole experience seemed like a joke to the boy; he half expected Hermione and Ron to pop out screaming: 'APRIL FOOLS!'…if only it wasn't June. The boat that Dumbledore had somehow pulled out of the water only amplified this expectation. If the old man saw Harry's scepticism, he didn't comment on it.

The boat led them up to the island. The two stepped up onto the island silently, the echo having been smothered by the tense atmosphere that'd settle between the student and teacher. Now up close, harry saw what stood before him: a large stone basin _. A basin?_ he thought, _I'm losing it_.

"You're not crazy, Harry," Dumbledore spoke softly, "this is no game."

 _Of-course this is a fucking game_ , the young wizard inwardly grumbled, _everything's a game to you._

There was a pregnant pause before the teacher continued:

"My boy, I need you to help me in this task." The old wizard said, avoiding Harry's eyes in favour of staring intently at the basin of liquid before him. "I am frail, you see – a young lad like you has an amazing ability to recover from anything. Don't you agree?"

"What would you have me do?" Harry replied, searching for the connection between himself and the basin.

"I do believe Lord Voldemort as hidden one of his horcruxes here; I must have it, Harry. However, there are no doubt several charms on this water – I cannot risk it myself, you must drink it for me."

Dumbledore's beaded eyes shot up, steadily holding Harry's. There was a sense of urgency in those eyes that made the boy wary, perhaps even scared him (although he'd never admit it). The older man traced the edge of the basin, leaving a loud whine to resonate throughout the cave.

"No." Harry so much as whispered, "No, I won't do it, Sir."

"Harry- "

"I could die," he said, stronger than before.

"I'll make sure you don't. You're our saviour after all, harry. What kind of mentor would I be to let my student die!" Dumbledore chuckled humourlessly, as if trying to reassure the panicking boy before him (spoilers: it wasn't working).

Harry stared down at his soaked trainers, taking a deep breath as he considered Dumbledore's words. It was true: he was too valuable to the wizarding community to die now – right in the heart of the war – surely this water couldn't do him too much harm?

Right before Harry was able to give into the headmaster's request, the man had placed a spindly hand upon his shoulder, already holding a cup full of the water to the boy's lips. It has seemed Dumbledore had taken Harry's silence as an invitation – _the bloody bastard_ , Harry thought before letting the liquid seep into his mouth.

Feeling his knees buckle, Harry fell to the rocky ground in pain. He attempted to spit out the putrid water, however found there was a hand grabbing roughly onto his chin, keeping him from doing so.

"Swallow it, Harry." The wizard's sickly-sweet voice beckoned.

 _Oh lord_ , Harry though as he gulped. His throat burned in a most horrific way, his stomach churned in disgust. He could faintly hear himself moaning, gasping, chocking from whatever Dumbledore was feeding him. The student couldn't attempt to block the next cup of liquid as his mouth was forced open once more.

"That's it, Harry, only a few more."

"N-no," he murmured against the lip of the cup, "no more."

He sounded so pathetic in that moment – so terribly vulnerable to this man's sadistic actions. What did he do to deserve this? His body felt numb, yet the fire that burned his insides felt everlasting. Trying as string together a coherent thought felt like running a marathon at this point – Harry could honestly say this was the closest thing he'd felt that was similar to the cruciatus curse.

Through blurred vision Harry was able to look up upon the headmaster; a locket was held between the old man's fingers, tracing over the detailed engravements that graced the pendant. Was it over?

The boy didn't dwell on the thought too long as he fell forward, seeking out the cloudy water that surrounded the island. He took large handfuls of it, throwing them in his mouth in desperation. The burning of his throat remained despite his efforts and resigned to hanging his head, catching his breath while Dumbledore stood behind him still.

"I believe I have what we need, Harry," the headmaster spoke, "Let us make our way back now."

‧͙⁺˚*･༓ ༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Apparating into the astronomy tower brought a tremendous amount of relief to harry – the main reason being that there was no bloody water poisoning him. He reached for the stair rail before his legs could buckle under him once more. The young boy kept silent, waiting for something. Anything.

Dumbledore stood still, staring out at the night sky as if nothing had happened. _Obnoxious prick._

'My boy', he started, making harry jump at the suddenness. 'It might be best if you wait below.'

'What do you mean, Sir?' Harry breathed out, his brows furring in confusion.

The headmaster turned towards the student, offering a vague smile: "You'll understand soon, my boy. And remember, help is always given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it."

 _He's crazy_ , Harry thought as he trudged down the staircase, _absolutely lost it_. On the small floor beneath the astrology tower, the young wizard could make out the outline of various items swamped in dust and spiderwebs. What was he doing waiting here? Why shouldn't he just go? He prayed to god this bullshit Dumbledore was pulled wouldn't last long – he wanted to sink into his cushion and forget today ever happened.

Speaking of sleeping, harry had dropped down to his knees, his hands cradling the impending headache what had continued to build since the activity in the cave. The sigh that escaped his lips right then sounded weak and defeated. Since when did he become so weak to the headmaster's ministrations? he didn't have to drink from the fucking basin. And yet he did – why did he do that?

The sound of footsteps making their way up the tower alerted Harry. There was more than one person coming – a whole swarm of people it sounded like – and yet Harry couldn't find it in himself to look at who it was; in the dark confines of the floor he was sat on, they wouldn't be able to see him anyway.

Voices flooded through the creaking floorboards, whispers turned to shouts in a matter of seconds. He knew that voice…what was Malfoy doing there? Looking up from his lap, harry craned his neck to peak through a gap. Billowing cloaks shrouded his view. Aurors? Students? No, they were different from the Hogwarts cloaks. Death Eaters? Would Malfoy do such a thing? Harry attempted to stand to his feet, but his vision burst into a sea of black dots the moment he did. Groaning he put his head down between his knees once more. _Fuck me. Fuck this._

The stair case creaked once more, signalling another person had arrived. However, they had not moved past the floor in which Harry sat:

"Potter?" A voice reached out to him, barely louder than a whisper in comparison to the conversation above them.

A dark figure stood only meters from the young wizard. Their dark robes and wand poised, Harry would've mistaken them for any other death eater…if not for the long dark hair that framed their face.

"Professor Snape, wha-" Harry was cut short as the man held a finger to his lips, quickly silencing the boy.

Snape crouched down in front of harry, his hand hovering near his lips till as he spoke: "Potter…what has he done to you?" Sympathy shone in his professor's eyes – an emotion he'd never dream of seeing from him. "You're not hurt, are you? Can you walk?"

The boy shook his head timidly, to which question he was answering he wasn't sure. His mind spun from confusion of the situation – why was everything so unclear?! The increasingly loud shrieks above him didn't help to settle his mind either – definitely Death Eaters.

In front of him, Snape reached out to his student, placing his hands on the boys temple; Harry relaxed under the gentle hold, not realising how quickly his consciousness was fading.

"No, I-I can' t… "

The boy's words dropped from his lips, the sentence falling short as his head lolled into his professor's grasp.


End file.
